


Six Times Dean Acted Like A Girl

by arby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Five Times, Genderswap, Humor, Other, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-17
Updated: 2008-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arby/pseuds/arby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds that going to sleep a dude and waking up a lady is not half as crazy-sexy-cool as it's cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean Gets a Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Crack. Also satire. Also there are six parts (or seven, counting the interlude!), when it's supposed to be FIVE times. ~~I suck at math ok!~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/40688.html).

"WHAT THE FUCK, Sammy, can't you do anything right?" Dean bitched as Sam handed him a coffee. "I _asked_ for a nonfat venti mochachino. This is a regular coffee, looks like it has half-and-half in it no less, and even," he held the cup to his nose and sniffed dramatically, "sugar! Why don't you just forcefeed me donuts if you want me to get fat so much?!"

Sam stared at him - her, whatever - in disbelief. "Dude, now I know you're really smoking crack. I asked what kind of coffee you wanted and you yelled 'the usual, shithead!' This _is_ your 'usual', _shithead_, so if you don't like it, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Really? You're not just fucking with me?" The wide-eyed look was apparently sincere, and somehow even more devastating in Dean's new heart-shaped face, though the big hazel eyes themselves hadn't changed a bit. There was something to be said there about Dean ordinarily looking like a girl, but Sam didn't have the energy to make the joke, even to himself.

"Really."

Some of Sam's internal organs felt a little melted from overexposure to the Dean X-Ray of Truth.

At that Dean's mood abruptly swung the other way with the brittle precision of a weathervane. "Jesus, Sammy, I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me lately. I feel so fucking angry all the time, I seriously want to go on a killing spree, my back hurts in a way I can't even begin to describe, and I also feel like I'm constantly on the verge of tears, you know?" In fact, his eyes were glinting suspiciously even as he spoke.

Sam knew all right, but not from personal experience.

"Hey, let's go get some food, okay?" he said gently. Dean would find out soon enough.

They were sitting in the diner, Dean making out with his chocolate shake - "Ohmygod seriously you have _no_ idea, how much I _seriously_ want to marry this shake right now" - when it hit him with all the subtlety of an invisible ninja demon. All of a sudden Dean stopped in mid-slurp and a horrified expression came over his face. He looked down at himself, then clutched at his abdomen and crumpled over as if he'd been shot. Then he abruptly stood up, came around the booth and lifted his shirt up, shoving his stomach in Sam's face. His shapely new stomach, hairless and gently curved.

Sam instantly averted his gaze, out of habit more than anything else. For some reason girls had the disconcerting habit of disrobing in public when he was around - though usually more in Dean's direction than his. "What are you _doing_?"

"Check for signs of the Baraku - you know, those wicked awesome invisible knife demons - would you? Because _something_ is stabbing the shit out of me right now."

"Dean, I hate to break it to you, but I think you're just getting a visit."

Dean chuckled. "That's what I used to call it when a girl was.. Oh, no. No, no, no, NO! I am NOT going to bleed from my pussy!!" This last was shouted, and heads definitely turned. Sam wanted to disappear into the earth on the spot. So he did the next best thing - paid and got the hell out of there.

Dean was standing in the parking lot, fuming and kicking everything in his path, from the tiniest pebble to big Coke cans.

"This is fucking BULLSHIT, man. I refuse to accept this."

Sam opened the driver's side door and got behind the wheel. Now that Dean had been 'pussified' - literally, no less - he made Sam drive, but of course insisted on keeping up a running commentary of admonitions, nadgering and insults.

Sam waved off Dean's caviling as he made an exaggerated show of buckling his seatbelt, not entirely to annoy Dean. "Hey, women have to put up with it every month for thirty-odd years."

"Well, that's equally bullshit. Turn left."

Sam couldn't help it, though he knew it would only make things worse - he laughed. Dean was just so earnestly indignant.

"Dude, you'd better watch out and use a condom if you plan on having sex in your new body. You could get preggers. Where are we going, CVS?"

"Shit, that's the last thing I need. What the hell would happen when I switch back - because I sure as shit am not staying a chick forever - if I was knocked up?" He shuddered. "Would I have some kind of ass-baby? I don't even want to go there. And damn straight, since I can't prevent this from happening, I'm gonna get high on Pamprin."

Sam was relieved that Dean hadn't had sex yet – he obviously didn't know the first thing about taking care of himself now that casual sex had real consequences. Of course, as with most good things involving Dean, his relief was short-lived.

"Although now that you mention it, I am really horny."

Sam could _feel_ his face making the expression Dean liked to call his 'bitchface'.

"TMI, dude. _Way_ TMI."

"Oh, whatever. Everyone knows girls get totally freaky when they're on the rag."

"I'm surprised that you would even consider having sex in that body - it seems kind of... gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added quickly, knowing the Seinfeld reference and betting Dean didn't. He was right.

"You'd think so, right? But I dunno, it seems different now."

* * * *

 

In the CVS Dean was doing his usual thing, if by "usual" one meant running around the aisles chattering constantly like a monkey on speed, totally distracted by everything from lotion - "my skin feels so dry and rough, and I actually _care_ \- I finally understand why girls actually use this stuff - no real guy uses it except to jerk off with" - to bath salts "oooh, this looks nice, I'd love to take a bath with these" to makeup "I could really use some foundation and powder, my skin is just _horrible_". Sam trailed along behind him like an extraneous boyfriend.

"You know this is ridiculous, right?" He said finally, exasperated.

"What?"

"Getting your sex swapped like this wouldn't make you suddenly start liking makeup and bath salts. There's no such thing as gender determinism, Dean."

Dean made an interestingly rude face.

"Just because you didn't learn it in Women's Studies class doesn't mean I can't have it. Anyway how would they know? Have they done studies on dudes who randomly wake up as chicks? I didn't think so. Maybe this is breaking new ground in Sexism 101."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh I think it is, but not the way you mean."

Dean continued monologuing about various beauty products and pretty much ignoring Sam, until suddenly he clutched himself and shivered.

"It's fucking freezing in here - can I borrow your jacket?"

Sam rolled his eyes but had to smile despite his annoyance, it was just such a typical girl thing to do.

"Fine, whatever."

Dean put it on - the sleeves were even longer on him now than they would have been for male!Dean, he had to roll them up awkwardly. It made him look even smaller.

Speaking of all things girl... "Oh Dean, did you forget why we're here?"

Dean looked up from his intent perusal of glittery nail polishes (the appropriately named Wet &amp; Wild), startled.

"Oh yeah." He actually blushed. Sam didn't think he'd seen Dean blush since high school. Then Dean insisted on going to the dreaded aisle alone, while Sam waited patiently in the magazine section.

After less than a minute the plaintive calls for help ensued. Sam sighed and followed the sound of his brother's new voice.

"What the hell, why are there are so many different _kinds_?" Dean whined.

"Okay, well, first of all, you definitely don't want deodorant," Sam said.

"Why not? I don't want to be _smelly_."

"Because they're full of chemicals and can be very irritating."

"Okay. I guess."

"Some girls are not fans of the cardboard applicators, either," Sam took the Tampax box out of Dean's hand and put it back on the shelf. In response to Dean's quizzical look, he explained, "Square and have rough edges."

Dean made a face. "Okay, so which one should I get? And what's up with tampons vs. pads vs. pantiliners?"

Sam noticed that a female shopper in the aisle was looking askance at them and lowered his voice.

"Well generally you need all three - tampons and pantiliners kind of go together, because you need pantiliners to catch any...um...leakage from the tampons, and then you want pads for like sleeping and stuff, or during the day if you're not going out or whatever and you don't want to bother with tampons. They're more comfortable," in response to yet another confused look.

"How the hell do you know all this stuff?" Dean attempted to whisper. "Were you secretly turned into a girl too?"

"Ha ha, very funny. No - unlike most guys, I actually listen when a girl is talking. Anyway if you're so oblivious to girly needs, how do you know about Pamprin?"

Dean laughed loudly in a most unladylike fashion, a higher-pitched version of his familiar guffaw. "I used to date this chick - Belinda Henderson from Frank High - who was a major pothead and she told me Pamprin gets them high as a kite. I figured now is the perfect chance to test that theory."

He grabbed the largest available size of the little pink boxes.

Again Sam smiled, despite himself. It was so typical of Dean to latch on to the one thing in this whole bizarre situation that might result in an altered state. Well, Pamprin was harmless enough, it might put him to sleep for a while at least.


	2. Dean Gets a Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets the bright idea to call Andy. Sam thinks this is not a great idea, for a number of reasons, none of which he feels like getting into ATM, thank you very little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/40805.html).

He came out of the bedroom disheveled, sweating, clothes hanging off him and long hair in disarray. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks absurdly flushed, like a Campbell's Soup kid. He pounded an entire bottle of water before taking a breath.

"Dude," he panted. "You...we..you can't even begin to imagine what it feels like for a girl. It's like getting an endless bj on x while stoned _and_ drunk. _Times eleventy-billion._ And they can do it over and over and over and over - and it still feels almost as good as the first time. The amazing thing to me is how women ever leave the bedroom, if it feels this good for them. I mean, I always thought I was just really good, or they were faking - but it's all real."

Sam regarded him bemusedly with mild alarm and acute discomfiture. Dean's deranged rambling was reminding him of someone, who was it...oh, right - that would be Andy. Jesus, what would happen if Barbie-doll Skipper here met Andy?

As usual Dean plucked the thought right out of his head. "You know who'd be really fun to hang with right about now? Andy! I should give him a call."

"Dean. I really don't think that's the world's greatest idea." For a whole host of reasons, none of which Sam felt like getting into ATM, thank you very little.

Dean ignored him, but couldn't find Andy's number. This led to some footstomping.

"Come on, man! You know I lost all my numbers when my Sidekick broke."

"Yes, but I also know that for a measly $10, Verizon will transfer it to the Sim card on your new phone," Sam countered.

"A, you sound like a commercial and B, I'm _far_ too lazy to do that, as you damn well know. Why can't you just give it to me already?"

Finally after much coercion Sam gave in, only to find that he didn't have it either. He vaguely remembered having deleted it by "mistake", so he wouldn't be tempted to call him.

"Can't you just call him on the Psychic Hotline? Cause if not, what is that shit good for again?"

"Dean, what the... I can't just _call_ him like that. It's not a real phone." But even as he said it he knew it was not true, a fact that Dean glommed on to immediately.

"C'mon, meditate on Andy or something and see what happens."

Sam knew all too well what would happen. He would have very...intense dreams. And Andy would call within a day. He'd actually done it before, more or less by mistake. He hoped to whatever gods looked after him that Andy couldn't the content of Sam's dreams. Because they were kind of inappropriate.

In Sam's dreams they were just hanging out, boys being boys, and Andy kept smiling at him and flirting in little subtle ways like touching his hand in the awkward scramble for a videogame controller or a bong hit, leaning on him and finally (Dean was always away at first) when he beat Sam at Super Mario Galaxy, Andy leaned over and just kissed the shit out of him, all hot wet tongue and sly little mouth, and the hair rose on the back of Sam's neck because Dean was standing there, he could feel it, Dean was _watching him_ make out with Andy, and it was too good.

And then he woke up with a stiffy the size of Texas. This was inevitably followed within four hours by Andy's call.

This time it was even worse, even though Dean's extreme makeover had resulted in the need for separate rooms, because within minutes of Sam's awakening, in fact just as Sam was sneaking his hand down under the covers to take care of business, Dean came busting into his room with all the delicacy of a charging elephant.

"Hey, let's go get -" He faltered in mid-sentence at seeing Sam's rather sizable boner tentpoling the blankets. He didn't have the tact to just excuse himself and get the fuck out, natch. Dad used to say that Dean was born without the gene for tact.

"Whoa, sorry." An expression crossed his face that made Sam even more uneasy than he already was, managing to combine calculation and… something else.

Sam groaned in frustration. Goddamn it, why didn't Dean have the common human decency to mind his own stinking business for once?

"Yo, Dean!"

Dean appeared to be lost in thought. The possible nature of those thoughts scared the shit out of Sam.

"Do you mind?"

Dean looked obscurely disappointed. "Oh, right, sorry. I'm going to Dunkin Donuts, you want anything?"

"Uh, no. Look, will you get the hell out of here already?!"

"Whoa, excuuuse ME. You big baby."

"Shut up!" Even to himself, that sounded pathetic.


	3. Dean Makes a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy's like a one-man Grateful Dead caravan - 100% stoned and mobile at all times. Dean primps for his arrival. The results are suitably impressive, if you're not named Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/40966.html).

Sam was rudely awakened for the second time that day by the sound of his cellphone ringing. Apparently Dean had learned nothing from his experience earlier, because once again he burst into Sam's room without knocking, and looked around wildly for Sam's phone.

Sam heaved a mighty sigh. "It's called knocking, Dean - please learn how."

"What? You're decent now. Is it him? Is it Andy?"

He spied Sam's phone on the bedside table and snatched it up. Flipping it open, looking at the caller ID, he grinned - "It's him - answer it!" - and shoved the phone at Sam.

"What the hell, are you in love with the guy?"

Andy's voice came out of the phone, startling Sam. "Um, what?" Dean had pressed 'Answer' before handing the phone over. Sam resolved to put a key-lock on his phone. With a PIN. One that Dean didn't know. And couldn't figure out.

"Never mind." Dean was making 'speakerphone' gestures at him; Sam turned his back on him.

"Um. Did you call me? My phone didn't show a missed call, but I had a feeling that, that you'd called."

"Yeah, sort of." Sam suddenly realized they hadn't come up with a cover story to get Andy to come by. He went with the generic old standby. "We have this case that we could use your help on, actually. You interested? What's your current location?" it actually wasn't a total lie - well, the part about needing his help sort of was, but surely Dean's sudden conversion from DC to AC qualified as a case.

"Dude, you know I'm so there." Andy was so tickled to be asked. "Except for how I'm actually in Waterloo, Iowa. I just finished, um, finished a thing, though, so I'm free. Where are you guys?"

"Oh, it shouldn't take you too long to get to us; we're just down in Hershey." As if on cue, Dean snickered behind him, just as Sam'd known he would.

"Is that Dean?" Andy sounded annoyingly wistful. "Can I, can I talk to him?"

Sam decided to torture Dean. "Dean? Andy wants to talk to you."

Dean's eyes grew huge with alarm and he shook his head, making scissoring hand gestures. Of course his vanity immediately began warring with his common sense, and Sam could _see_ him considering whether he could make his voice sound more normal or if it was doomed to come out high-pitched and unmistakably girly. Finally he made up his mind and sadly shook his head again. Sam guessed he planned on surprising Andy with his new appearance when Andy showed up.

"Sorry, Dean can't come to the phone right now."

Dean scribbled something on a piece of paper and held it up.

"Oh, but he says to bring your van." Another scrawl. "And some weed." Then, realizing what he'd just said, "Dean!"

Dean shrugged and mimed clutching his stomach. Apparently pot helped alleviate cramps. Who knew? Probably another helpful tip from Barbara Blanderson, or whatever her name was.

Andy laughed, not unpleasingly. 'You know me, man - I never go anywhere without both! I'm like a one-man Grateful Dead caravan - 100% stoned and mobile at all times.'

"Okay, so we're staying at the Hidey-Hole Motel on North Main Street. Call me when you get into the city."

"Okay, no problem. I'll be, I'll be there in about three days, give or take."

* * * * *

 

Dean spent those three days curled up in a ball on his bed, moaning in agony whenever the Pamprin+Aleve cocktail he was on wore off. Sam spent them next door, reading a Latin textbook, kicking the wall whenever Dean got too noisy. When he needed a break Sam sat in a coffeeshop for a few hours. Periodically (no pun intended) Dean would call Sam to whine about how hungry he was and coerce Sam into buying him pizza and donuts. By the time Andy got there, Sam was ready to kill him for being so annoying, if nothing else.

When Andy called back to say he'd arrived, Sam gave him his own room number. It was just easier. Dean was over there most of the time anyway, using his own room only to shower and sleep. He was over there right now, primping - though he would never admit it, and in fact gave Sam a punch (which from most girls would have been ineffectual, but from girl!Dean still stung) when accused of it - for Andy, seemingly, since as far as Sam knew neither Tom Welling nor Chad Michael Murray had been invited to join them.

His train of thought, such as it was, was interrupted by a knock.

"Come in," he said automatically.

Andy came in. He looked rumpled, and his hair was sticking up in a familiar fashion.

"Hey man," said Sam.

"Hey," replied Andy with equal nonchalance.

"Dean's next door, he should be over any minute."

"So what's this case about?"

"Let's wait for Dean, if you don't mind."

"Sure, no problem."

Thankfully, just then the door opened and Dean sauntered in, right on cue. He'd chosen to go low-key, Sam saw, and it suited him. He wore one of his faded old Metallica t-shirts, which on the old Dean would have been unremarkable, but on Dean 2.0 it was a knockout - faded and ripped and strategically falling off. His jeans were too long for him now, but he'd cinched his belt up a notch and rolled up the cuffs. It made him look casual and - Sam had to admit - adorable. The overall effect was of a hot chick who was trying to look like one of the guys. Dean's long-ish hair was damp and he'd obviously just gotten out of the shower. He was just as obviously not wearing a bra.

Noticing all this made Sam feel like the world's biggest perv. _He's effectively your sister!_ he reminded himself. He had a bad feeling about this, on so many levels.

The effect this sight had on Andy had to be gratifying for Dean. Andy's mouth was literally hanging open in shock and not a little male appreciation for his physical assets.

Dean smiled most disconcertingly.

"Hey dude," he said innocently.

Andy continued to gape. "What the..."

"Oh, this?" Dean made a 'this little old thing?' gesture at himself. "This would be the case Sam mentioned."

"What - what happened? I mean," Andy hastened to explain, "Not that it's not working for you - because it totally is - but how'd you get turned into a girl?"

"Oh, thanks!" Dean actually dimpled, but neglected to answer the question.

Sam'd had quite enough of this nonsense. "Um, we don't actually know what happened."

"Yeah. We got here last week, I went to sleep a dude and woke up a lady." Dean flung himself into a chair by the window and dangled his legs over the arm. He was wearing old-school Airwalks that looked absurdly tiny, as if he'd mugged a small child to get them. This was some kind of weird optical illusion, Sam had decided, because his feet weren't actually that small. Sam had no idea where Dean had procured these shoes, and he didn't think he really wanted to know.

"I take it you've retraced your steps?" Andy was still mesmerized by She!Dean - he didn't so much as glance in Sam's direction. Sam was starting to feel like Jan Brady. He was going to develop a complex about this if he didn't watch out.

"Yeah, but so far nothing popped out at us, ya know?" Was Dean wearing lip gloss? His lips looked unusually shiny. And there was no way that word choice wasn't deliberate.

Andy's voice was noticeably lower as he replied, "Maybe you - maybe I should go over them with you again."

"I think that's a good idea," Dean replied, almost as huskily.

Sam knew he was the third wheel here, but refused to give them the satisfaction of staying behind. He grabbed his wallet and the car keys.

"Okay, let's go."

Dean stretched in a way that could only be called _kittenish_, showing off his lithe little belly. Then he leapt to his feet with aplomb.

"Ok, let's do this thing."

* * * * *

 

Six hours later, they were exhausted and mildly downtrodden, having been to every place Dean and Sam had originally visited when they got to town, with absolutely no luck, despite Andy having expertly Kenobi'd the clerk at the courthouse and the hospital.

"Shit," Dean said succinctly.

"Now what?" said Andy wearily.

"What do we usually do? Tomorrow we'll have to hit the library, start looking for anything hinky."

Dean perked up a little at the word 'tomorrow'. "So are we excused for the night, teach?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Dean looked at him seriously for a minute. Then he made a face.

"Okay, so Sam's planning on being a wet blanket, check. I, on the other hand, know how to have fun, and I want to go have a drink."

He turned to Andy, who was totally with him. Normally Sam would have brought an ancient tome and sat at the bar nursing a beer while Dean scored with as many hot chicks as he could get, either serially or in parallel, but tonight Sam didn't feel like playing 'ball &amp; chain'. So he demurred on going out 'for a drink' with them, and watched not at all bitterly as they walked away.

"Later, sucka!" Dean called back over his shoulder.

_Cute._

He went back to the hotel, thinking at least he could get some research done, maybe crack the case of why the Hardy Boy was suddenly a Nancy Drew. _Dean's right_, he realized with no small dismay: he was a wet blanket. _Well, at least I'm not a slut._ The thought had barely formed before he began chiding himself for it. _Shame on you. That word has been used to oppress women for centuries, and - in the admittedly bizarre event that Dean gets a magical sex change - he gets more attention and you start doing it too._ His Gender Studies prof would be ashamed of him. Although his teacher had never met Dean. Really, if you thought about it, Dean'd been a slut long before he'd been transformed into a woman. If it weren't for the double standard of the patriarchy, he'd have been tarred &amp; feathered with the same brush.


	4. Dean Gets Let Down Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy and Dean go on a date, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/41286.html).

Andy was not really sure what was going on here - well, ordinarily he'd have been pretty sure that he was about to get laid, but things were far from ordinary right about now. He was sitting across the table from a (very) cute girl who until quite recently had been both a guy and a friend of his - a seemingly straight friend at that. Said newly female friend was now attempting to drink him under the table.

He looked across the table. Dean had gone up to the bar and was leaning on it suggestively in the age-old manner of a girl trying to score free drinks. The bartender smiled at him indulgently and served him two shots. Dean dimpled in thanks and brought them back to their table. He was barely even swaying, though this had to be their fifth round.

"Tekillme!" Dean shouted as he neared Andy.

"Dude, _you're_ going to kill me here. Ok, this is the last round, then I insist that we go out to the van."

Dean gave him a mock dirty look. "How do I know you're not Jedi-ing me into it? I really want to go out there!" but the way he smiled made it clear he was kidding about the mind-control - and was NOT kidding about wanting to go to the van.

Andy downed his liquid courage in a single gulp, then stood up and grabbed Dean's hand.

"Come on."

"Wait! Hold on," Dean squawked in an undignified manner. He drank his shot, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked around, peering under the table for a minute before sheepishly admitting, "Oh, right. I didn't have a bag."

"Geez, what a girl!" Andy teased. "Do you usually carry a purse?"

Dean scowled adorably. "Look, I have important stuff to carry! And my pockets aren't big enough."

Andy scoffed. "Important stuff like what, lipgloss?"

"Maybe. Hey, my lips get mad chapped, okay?"

They were in the parking lot. Dean was clinging to Andy as they walked in the classic way of a girl using the excuse of being drunk to drape herself all over a guy. Andy could feel Dean's _tits_ against his arm, for God's sake. Dean wasn't supposed to _have_ tits in the first place, let alone molest Andy with them at the slightest opportunity.

Thankfully once again the orderly procession of time and space continued in an opportune manner, as just then the van hove into view.

Ordinarily Andy could have opened the back doors with a single pinky, that's how good he was at it. Of course ordinarily he didn't have Girl!Dean hanging on him like a limpet.

With some degree of clanging and difficulty he managed to get the door open. The music kicked in and Dean started giggling. There was no other word for the sound he was making - there was nothing even remotely masculine about it.

"I forgot about the bow-chicka-bow, and the tiger! I love this van. Did I tell you I love it already?"

"Other than right now, you mean? No."

"Oh yeah, it was Sam I was telling before. Well I love it. I am _in love_ with it."

"Wait, when did you see the inside of my van?"

"Oh, back in Olka- Okal- Ok-la-hom-a when we thought you might be the great Killinsky – you know, the mind-murderer. I pried open the doors with a crowbar. Sorry baby," and he stroked the fur upholstery lovingly. He sprawled on the rug, the disco ball sending little diamonds spinning over him, as Andy opened a secret compartment built into the floor above the wheel well and pulled out the dope.

"That was when I knew you couldn't have done it, by the way," continued Dean, enunciating just a tad too much, "No one with such good taste in rides could be a stone-cold killer. Question: did you get more girls with the wheels or the mind control?"

Andy frowned, thinking, as he efficiently packed the bowl. "By the time I got Sharona here I already had the whammy, so I don't know. In fact I used the whammy to get her - this dude had already tricked her out and everything."

He turned and when Dean saw what Andy was holding, he burst out laughing again. "Moby Dick's bong! That's what I said, I said to Sam when I saw it. Of course he of the permanent stick up the ass didn't even crack a smile, but come on!"

Andy grinned and took an (appropriately monster) hit before passing it over.

"Thar she blows!"

Andy had had every intention of taking Dean home before things got too weird. Of course, after about the 10th hit off ol' Moby Bong, Andy didn't feel like going anywhere. He was staring at Dean, fascinated.

"It's so _weird_," he breathed, for what had to be the fiftieth time. Dean's transformation was so subtle, at least in the facial features, that he'd be hard-put to say what had changed. The jaw more rounded instead of square, the overall contours of his face heart-shaped instead of boxy, the high cheekbones and delicate aquiline nose the same - a bit smaller (but then, his entire head was smaller, so it was proportionate), and there was something different about his mouth but Andy couldn't have said what it was to save his life.

Yet Dean was now as unmistakably female as he'd been male before. And no less strikingly beautiful in this shape, although Andy would still argue that the male version was more of a knockout, just because pretty girls were a dime a dozen, but guys who looked like Dean were usually models or actors, not real people who went around doing _stuff_. Like sticking their tongues into your ear, just as a for example. Not that he wanted that to happen or anything.

Dean's left eye had a flaw in the iris, a great dark crack like a sockeye marble, the good kind kids'd trade two and three for back in the day. Dean misinterpreted this interest and his face took on the dreamy look of a girl expecting to be kissed. Andy changed focus to Dean's hair, disconcertingly long and flowing, with a little anarchist wave to it that seemingly defied any attempt at styling. It looked soft and inviting to the touch, though, like a bunny's or a cat's fur, and he found himself stroking it lightly almost against his will.

Dean smiled. "Feels nice, huh? I found out the secret - they use special conditioners. And brush it a lot more than we do. The big trick to getting or maintaining your beauty is spending a _lot_ more time on your appearance. That and buying mad products. You may or may not know this, but they have a product for every possible beauty flaw. It's crazy!" he snorted. "And crazy _expensive_."

It was as if Andy'd never seen a girl before - like he grew up in some strange faraway country where there was no such thing as female, that's how wondrous strange she seemed.

_She's like Dean's sister_, it suddenly hit him. _It's just like Dean had a twin sister, like me and Ansen, and there's no law against me and Dean's sister._ The fact that there was no "law" against him and Girl!Dean either did not bear thinking about at that moment.

Somehow Dean's head was in his lap now, sleepy eyes half-lidded, the little face looking up at him so expectantly, that Andy felt that sheer politeness impelled him to drop the slightest possible kiss on those lips, and the slow, sweet smile Dean gave him made him have to bend back down for just one more, and then they were kissing in earnest and it was languid and sweet and somehow still _Dean_ and the combination was a little too much, somehow. Those eyes looking out of a girl's face, those lips that used to look so strong, feeling so soft beneath his own.

Andy broke away, gasping, a sort of floating horror rising up from his stomach as if someone had blown it up like a balloon.

"I, I can't do this."

"What's wrong?" Dean's hair was mussed, and his lips were beestung and pink... Andy had no words to describe them. He halfway thought that if he so much as _looked_ at Dean's lips for another second, his brain would explode with the cognitive dissonance.

Dean looked at him, frowning. "Are you okay?"

Andy shook his head and instantly regretted it. He was beginning to remember why he hated tequila. He stood up suddenly and his head swam. He managed to stagger off the van before it hit him like an express train and his guts turned themselves inside out into the parking lot. He heard someone moaning in the distance and eventually realized it was him.

Dean was hovering around him, trying to help, but there was nothing anyone could do. Andy waved off the solitication with one hand and returned all his energy to horking his lungs out.

Finally the Jose Cuervo Barf Express stopped, seemingly of its own accord. He felt as if he'd aged years in the process. He wiped the helpless tears from puking off his cheeks and leaned against the open ledge of the van.

"Jesus. Got any water?"

Dean looked apologetic. "Sorry dude. Usually I would, but I didn't bring my bag tonight. You want me to run over to that deli and get you some?"

Andy nodded. Even that slight motion took all his energy.

"Ok hold on a sec, bro." He hopped down from the van and made as if to walk off across the parking lot.

"Hey, um," Andy croaked through his parched throat. "Sorry about, about that. It wasn't you. I just can't drink tequila."

Dean smiled and the sky got brighter - either the sun came out from the clouds in the dead of night, or maybe it was the fluorescent lights in the parking lot, shining in Andy's eyes.

But by the time Dean got back, Andy had had more time to think about it. He drank half the large Poland Spring bottle Dean handed him in one gulp, then turned to Dean and said, "Look, it's...just, it's just too weird for me, I'm sorry."

Dean was quiet for a second, looking disappointed. Then he shrugged and said with a trace of his old nonchalance, "It's okay, dude. I understand. Um, do you mind if I go back to the hotel now?"

Andy smiled, glad he was taking it so well. "Sure, no problem. I'd drive you, but I think I'm too fucked up."

"Nah, I can walk. It's not that far."

"Sure you're okay to go by yourself?"

"What, you think I can't defend myself?" Dean pulled out an absurdly wicked long knife. Andy had no earthly idea where he'd managed to keep it. "Yeah - anyone who tries to fuck with me will be sorry."

"Okay. So, um - see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, see you." And he clambered out of the van and was gone.


	5. Dean Kicks Ass, But Neglects to Take Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes home bearing stolen booty, and wonders about his own. Sam refuses to give him the comfort he asks for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/41567.html).

Sam was listening to the tiny variations in pitch made by the sustained whine of the turned-off TV, forming them into a tiny song that he whistled along with idly as he read the interminably boring local history paragraph for the fourteenth time. His left hand doodled arcane symbols in ballpoint pen on a yellow legal pad. Suddenly the door slammed open - with what seemed to him to be excessive force - and Dean blew in like an elaborately styled 'non-style' hurricane.

"Guess what?!" All kid in a candy shop.

"What?" Sam put on "exasperated and annoyed face #34"‚ (late-night version).

"Some asshole tried to jump me, on the way home from Andy's truck! But I scared him off with _this_," and he whipped out his second most ginormous knife.

If Sam had been drinking something, he would have done a spit-take. "Jesus Christ, Dean. Where do you _put_ that thing?"

Dean gave him a classic Dean smirk. It sat oddly on his new face. "A lady never tells. But I'm not a lady, so between you and me? I keep it in my sock." He shrugged off her jacket, then started pulling mini glass Remy VSOP bottles out of his pockets and _plunk_ing them on the cheap wood of the flimsy hotel desk. *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* And then a *thud* as a can of Coke™ came out. From under his shirt, no less.

"Nice, Dean. Those don't look legal."

"I got two words for you. 'Five. Finger. Discount.'"

"You know, technically that's three words."

"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed a dingy hotel glass and poured himself a swig of cognac. Then he made himself a C&amp;C (cognac &amp; Coke, naturally). Typically, there was no ice to be had. Even more typically, Dean was too lazy to go see if they had a machine (likely) in working order (50-50) or failing that, if the front desk could hook them up (improbable at best and those guys were invariably creepy).

Sam sighed. Dean was silent for an uncharacteristically long moment. Sam looked over and caught him studying himself in the cheap full-length mirror that was hot-glued to the back of Sam's door. "What are you doing?"

"I don't get it. Am I, like, secretly ugly?"

After a confused pause Sam replied cautiously, "No, I wouldn't say so."

Dean turned around and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "What about my ass? Is it fat?"

Sam sighed even louder. "Certainly NOT. Don't fall for advertising or magazines, Dean - those women are airbrushed to within an inch of their lives."

Dean grinned, momentarily distracted by the memory of his skin mags - Dean presented with even theoretical porn was like a magpie with a shiny object. "Don't I know it - and I wouldn't have it any other way." A pause. "But I don't get it. If I were still a guy I would hit me."

Sam was silent for a few seconds, working through the tortured grammar of that sentence.

Dean continued without waiting for a reply. "I always thought most girls could get any guy they wanted. I mean, non-heifers/uglies, of course. Unless he's gay."

Sam managed to follow this, and despite being pretty sure he knew the answer (and really not wanting the confirmation in any case), had to ask anyway, "Dean, who are you talking about?"

Dean turned to look at him, his bewildered expression making a tiny frown line between his eyebrows. Sam tried to resist the urge to point it out and succeeded.

"It's Andy. I don't understand. He seemed like he was interested, and then we started macking, and - well, then he barfed a lot, but I'm pretty sure that was just the tequila - and then he said it was 'too weird' and he didn't want to get with me."

Sam was skeptical. "He used those exact words?"

"Something to that effect! He definitely said 'too weird'. Anyway since when is _anything_ too weird for Andy! He's up for everything! That's one of the things I like about him!"

He pouted and continued petulantly, "This sucks. I was used to rejection as a guy - guys are always getting rejected! Girls are the rejecters, that's just how it works - you wear down their resistance until they give in. You never get a girl to like you by blowing her off!"

Sam ignored the rampant sexism and third grade view of relationships on display. He said quietly, "Do you even like Andy 'that' way?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. I just think that if I'm kind enough to offer myself up to him" - Sam choked on his water for real this time, but Dean continued oblivious - "the least he can do is take me up on it and be grateful. Unless he's really not interested for some other reason. Do you think he's gay? Seriously Sam, do you? You've got the Sensitive Guy Super-Gaydar, tell me."

Sam, coughing, totally thrown off guard for a number of reasons (that was _so_ not where he thought Dean was going with that sentence, for one), accidentally blurted out the truth: "I think he's bi."

"What?" Dean was obviously not expecting that answer in turn. "Seriously?"

Sam shrugged. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he might as well come clean. "Yeah, honestly I do."

This made Dean even more indignant, if such a thing were possible. "Well then what the fuck, he has no excuse! You'd think this would be right up his alley! No pun intended."

Sam wasn't even sure there was a pun there. He couldn't help himself, he assumed his educator mode, the one Dean redundantly called "Dr. Professor". "Dean. Just because someone is bisexual doesn't mean they necessarily like, um, transgendered individuals."

Dean spun on his heel to look at him, eyes wide as a cartoon character's. "Are you kidding me? I'm a tranny?"

Sam couldn't hold back the tiniest - and therefore, by the inverse property, most irritating - of smirks. "No, I'm not kidding, and technically? Yes."

"But it's not like anyone can tell, right?" He felt for his Adam's apple worriedly.

"No. But for anyone who knew you before, it takes some getting used to. Give Andy time, maybe he'll come around. Or maybe we'll get you changed back into a guy soon, and then it won't matter."

Dean looked solemn. Apparently being a girl had become serious business. "Why are you in such a hurry? Don't _you_ like me this way either?" He went over to Sam, invading his personal space in a way that was distinctly disconcerting.

Sam shot him a glance. Dean was staring up at him with a look that said, _Say the wrong thing now and you're dead, mister. Brother or no._

The moment hung in the air, fragile and glittering, it tingled between them like a wind chime until Dean seemed to pick it up and throw it across the room at the mirror, which shivered and broke into an ugly spiderweb of cracks. The echoes of breaking glass rang in the silence like the laugh of an exotic goddess. Sam stared stunned until he realized it was just a drinking glass that lay shattered at the mirror's plastic-shod foot.

And then Sam spoke. He said the exact same thing he would have said before Dean pitched a fit – or a glass, for that matter.

"Are you sure you _really_ want me to answer that?"

Dean looked hurt. "Why wouldn't I? Unless I'm really just that ugly!"

"You don't think it would make things a little, um, _awkward_ when you change back?"

"Why would it..." A pregnant pause ensued. " Oh. OH. That must mean you think I'm hot! Otherwise you wouldn't be afraid to say."

Sam bridled at that. "I'm not _afraid_ of anything. I'm just thinking about the future, that's all - something you consistently refuse to do."

"Dude. You know me. It's not in my nature to think beyond the next whatever - sandwich, drink, fuck."

Sam was alarmed. "Nice, Dean! Who said anything about fucking?"

Dean actually stamped his foot at that. "This is so totally unfair! You know I'm in a very vulnerable place right now! How can you be so _vicious_?" He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, pausing only to add, "Would it kill you to give a girl a compliment? I thought you loved me!" before slamming the door with such violence it rattled on its hinges. Bits of mirror shivered down with a high-pitched silvery sound like he imagined ash would make, floating in the wake of a volcano.

Sam stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back, unmoved. A shard of glass pierced its eye, like Kay in _The Snow Queen_.

He didn't follow.

Not even when he heard Dean crying through the paper-thin walls.

It was for the best.

Really.


	6. Interlude: Sam and the Bartender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam talks to a helpful bartender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/41762.html).  
> 2\. A small bit of Sam's dialogue is cribbed from drunken!Sam's ranting in _Playthings_.

Sam tried to work, naturally - because he was something of a nerd possessed of greater quantities of insomnia and inexplicable curses than he was of social impulses/life - but found it strangely hard to concentrate. He decided to take his books to the bar on the corner.

The bar was tiny, narrow and dingy, a dank cave where most of the denizens habitually wore faded, off-black, and heavily stained casual wear to go with their artfully conceived slouches. At $2 a beer, it was priced right, and locationally situated it was ideal, being across the parking lot from their hotel. Sam sat at the bar and his back formed a giant capital C.

The bartender was occupied down at the other end with a skinny girl in Buddy Holly glasses and her hulking, leering date, but made sure to make eye contact with a slight nod of acknowledgment. Sam pulled out _St. McKPatrickson &amp; O'Reilly's Esoteric Catholic Rituals and_ Prayera Obscura, _Annotated and Unabridged, 3rd edition_, and cracked it open to page 315.

The bartender swiftly and silently brought him a frosty, golden bottle of beer, plunked it down on the worn but polished wooden counter with a gently resounding *thud*. The beer foamed up invitingly in response, spilling a little of itself in anticipation.

Sam looked at the bartender, who held up two fingers. In response Sam dug in his pocket, put down $2.50. Then he bent studiously to his work, one hand encircling the beer in a lazy caress. The beer didn't mind, it was a little bit of a slut.

Things continued on in this manner for some time. Sam had made his teasing, drawn-out way through three lovely young beers, before the bar had emptied except for one other patron, a nondescript fellow hunched in the back, playing solitaire and nursing a fifth of rotgut Scotch.

Sam raised his bleary head and knuckled his eyes. The words were starting to swim. He looked up to see the bartender leaning across from him. The bartender was regarding him with a patient and steadying stare.

Sam frowned. "What?"

The bartender raised an eyebrow.

"I take it you're trying to avoid something."

Sam pursed his lips, sighed, and unaccountably answered with the truth. "Try some_one_. My sister - well, more like my brother - he's female now but she used to be a he."

The bartender polished the countertop assiduously, in the manner to which bartenders worldwide hold the patent, picking up Sam's latest conquest and sweeping the cloth beneath it briskly, wiping up its puddled sweat, then giving the bottle itself a brief but no less exciting rubdown.

"And this makes you have to study here how?"

Sam, stalling, took several swallows from his newly tidied beer. The other bottles in the ice bucket looked on enviously, while the bartender watched Sam's Adam's apple going up and down, bobbing like a cork on the ocean.

"He went out on a date tonight, and the guy didn't want to - you know" (he gestured clumsily yet eloquently with a giant floppy paw, to which the bartender nodded) "and he came back and asked me if I thought he was hot" (the bartender's eyes widened minutely at this) "and when I said I didn't want to answer, screamed at me, stormed out of the room, slamming the door and now he's crying."

The bartender squinted slightly and stared into the top-right corner of space in recollection. "What does your brother - er, look like now? Small but quite tough, able to drink the average guy under the table, but pretty as a model?" Sam nodded. The bartender continued. "Is it possible that he was here earlier tonight, with a rather unprepossessing dude?"

"Yeah, that sounds like Dean, and this friend of ours, Andy."

At the mention of his brother's date, a look crossed Sam's face, which the bartender noticed, but did not remark upon.

The bartender said, "Isn't he effectively your sister now?"

Sam stared at his beer and said nothing for a while. Then he looked up, met the bartender's patient gaze. "Yeah. That's kind of the problem."

The bartender made an exceedingly subtle expression that could be interpreted sixteen different ways by any halfway-competent psychology major. Sam himself could think of ten right off the bat.

"Can I ask you something?" said the bartender, not quite casually.

Sam nodded.

"Why is it that this wasn't a problem before Dean crossed his wires? Is she really so differerent from the person who was your brother?"

"That's a _great_ question!" In gesticulating wildly at no one in particular, Sam knocked over his beer, but the bartender caught it deftly before a precious drop had spilled. The beer was, of course, silently grateful.

"I dunno, I guess the answer is Yes. When Dean was a guy he was just so..._short_."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at this. Sam didn't notice.

"Short and _bossy_. Man, what a supremely annoying combination. If he wasn't beating me up, he was pranking me. Now her height is kind of ... cute. She needs me to look after her."

"Ah. The protector instinct." The bartender nodded in a way that would have been almost irritatingly wise - to a sober person.

"It's like he went from being my older brother to my younger sister. I never had a sister before, you know? I don't really know how to act."

The bartender, having expertly assessed Sam's inebriation level, threw discretion to the wind and went for the metaphorical kill. "What about this Andy guy, what's the deal with him?"

Sam looked broadly uncomfortable. "He ... he kinda reminds me of Dean. _Boy_ Dean." He leaned over the bar, stage-whispering, "But I think he _likes_ Dean. You know, that way."

The bartender refrained from reacting. Somehow he did this in a way that was distinctly distinguishable from not being affected. The bar took this opportunity to grow the tiniest bit more polished. Sam's beer sweated a little to itself, hoping Sam would be so kind as to finish it before it got too hot and lost all its appeal.

After a long minute, the bartender said, "Well, that would make sense - after all, they did go on a date. And yet, nothing happened." It wasn't a question.

Sam frowned cartoonishly. "Yeah! Wonder what's up with _that_."

"Maybe Andy prefers Dean as a male."

"Maybe. Or _maybe_," his eyes got big and he fell to stage-whispering again, "Dean doesn't really like Andy that way. Maybe he secretly likes someone else!"

The bartender almost smiled, then changed the subject. "Why don't you finish up your beer?"

Sam was only too happy to comply - not to mention the beer, which was ecstatic at the thought that it would not be unceremoniously thrown out.


	7. Dean Gets Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which events are brought to a satisfying conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on Livejournal [here](http://arby-m.livejournal.com/42122.html).

Sam didn't know exactly when he left the bar, only that at some point he found himself walking through a parking lot. The sky was an interestingly toxic shade of orange, and swooped around him like it had a mind of his own. It was making him dizzy, so he stopped looking at it. A long, one-sided conversation with an usually short and exceptionally rude gentleman was unsatisfactorily resolved when Sam finally strode away in disgust. The man never even apologized for tripping him in the first place.

Some undetermined period of time later he found himself at the hotel, banging on the door. "Deaaaaannnnn!! Lemme innnnnnnnn!!" someone was bawling. Given that no one else here knew Dean, Sam strongly suspected it was himself. No one answered, so finally he dug out his key. The door stubbornly refused to open. Finally he looked at the key. The numbers swam before his eyes for a long minute before resolving into 1996. He squinted at the door. 1995. _Damn_. "Sorry!!" he yelled at the occupant, before moving down one door. This time the door liked him a little bit better, and deigned to open after only 10 tries.

He staggered into his room, flinging his bookbag onto the bed. Someone in the general vicinity was singing "I Will Always Love You" almost astonishingly badly. He couldn't imagine who that might be. Sam felt the overwhelming need to bust in on Dean. He managed to get the connecting door between their rooms to open with only minor difficulty.

With truly exemplary brotherly consideration he whispered softly, "Psst, Dean! You awake?" He could see a dark shape in the bed, which eventually resolved itself into Dean, sleeping on her stomach, as was her wont. She was snoring tinily in a miniature version of male!Dean's nightly serenade. Sam watched her quietly for a moment, then lay down next to her. Dean sighed in her sleep and turned towards him, putting her arm around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sam smiled. His surroundings melted into nothingness as sleep whirled his mind down into its dark depths.

He was awakened a few hours later by a strange weight on his chest and against his side. He touched it muzzily, without opening his eyes. (Later Dean would chastise him for that - it could have been a demon for all Sam knew.) It appeared to be a girl. Her hair was very soft. She made a tiny noise of contentment and snuggled into him. His hands moved over her body as if of their own accord, swooping around her curves like a racecar on a track. He felt tingly and strangely insensate. He was vaguely conscious that something was not right here - hair too long, skin too soft, hands way too small - it was as if he was expecting someone else. He was too drunk (still) to figure out who that might be. Even half-asleep he felt guilty for taking advantage of this strange girl, so muzzily tried to ask who she was. She would not answer. Left to his own devices, he would not have "sealed the deal" (as Dean would say, along with many cruder expressions), but she wordlessly insisted. Then she lay back down next to him and fell asleep. Sam's head spun pleasantly for a minute, his entire body buzzing, until he followed suit.

* * * * *

 

Sam woke the second time with sunbeams stabbing him in the eyeballs. His mouth tasted as if he'd been licking car batteries. He moaned and went to rub his eyebrows, when suddenly he realized there was someone next to him. Someone _on_ him, in fact. Who… He looked down at the head on his chest and realized with complete horror that not only it was Dean, but it was Boy!Dean. The hair was cropped again and tousled, and the arm wrapped around Sam's waist was muscled and distinctly thicker than it had been. _Oh, God._ He vaguely remembered something happening in the middle of the night, something that might have ended in having sex with a strange girl. He closed his eyes, blood suffusing his cheeks with embarrassment, as he put two and two together. He'd had sex with Girl!Dean and now she'd turned back! He wondered if there was any possible way he could leap out of the bed and be back in his own room before Dean woke up. The mere thought of leaping anywhere made his head spin nauseatingly.

"Shit!" he said out loud, startling himself.

Dean stirred. Then he stretched, smiling a little in his waking. It would have been cute, if Sam weren't so utterly horrified.

Dean opened his eyes. He didn't seem particularly appalled to see Sam there.

"Hey."

Sam eyed him narrowly at this suspicious nonchalance. "Hey."

"Um, do you notice anything strange?"

Dean ignored this, saying softly, "That was nice last night."

Sam felt himself blushing again, hotly. "What? You remember that?"

"Oh, yeah. I was only sort of drunk." He smiled lazily, then lifted his arm off Sam to scrub at his face with one hand. Sam saw his hand slow as he realized something was off about it.

"Hey, wait a minute! Am I back to being a guy?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Whoa. That's so weird. I had just almost gotten used to being a girl."

"You're not mad at me?"

"For what, taking advantage of me? I knew what I was doing, dude. If anything, _I_ took advantage of _you_ – you were shitfaced!"

Sam refused to be comforted by this. "And you're not weirded out now?"

"By the fact that we had sex, you mean?" Dean's eyes widened, and far from looking angry, he looked obscurely thrilled. "Not really. I mean, there were kind of special circumstances, you know?"

Sam scratched his head. "I guess."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid – you're going to try to use this as an excuse for sulking and acting weird, I can tell. Well, stop it!"

He leaned over, invading Sam's personal space with a vengeance. "What do I have to do to prove that I'm not mad?"

Sam shrank back, alarmed.

Dean scoffed. "Don't try to tell me you're not into it. This changes nothing. I'm still the same person as I was before. I just have a little – okay, a lot – more appreciation for what girls have to put up with now, that's all. And I know what it feels like to have sex as a girl – i.e., awesome."

He smiled dreamily at the memory, then glared at Sam again, inexplicably annoyed. "You know, you're a really good kisser? Now I get what girls see in you. So tall and sensitive. It's kind of hot."

Before Sam could say or do anything in response to this, Dean slid across the last few inches separating them, leaning heavily on Sam's chest as he did so, and kissed him roughly. His lips were just as soft and sensual as before, but now they were driven by a more aggressive energy. The contrast was strangely electrifying. Sam felt himself stirring in response. Dean's tongue slipped between Sam's lips as if it were natural, somehow, and Sam ran his hand down Dean's arm, wordlessly begging him not to stop.

Luckily for him, Dean didn't.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

**Epilogue**

Andy took the news of Dean's re-transformation well. He could see that something had changed between them, and shrugged, philosophically accepting it, as was his wont. Sam was watching him closely, though, and saw a glint of disappointment in his eyes as Andy turned away. He decided he would make it up to Andy one day, somehow. The next time they ran into a lust demon, maybe he'd give Andy a call. Then just happen to lock Andy and Dean in a room with it. Or something. Time would tell.


End file.
